In the third place, Ronald Keith is here, and half mad with jealousy.

The keenest north wind that has ever blown since I came to Canada is not half so freezing as he.

Alas, poor Yorick! He is a fine fellow, too, and fought like a lion in the Russian trenches; but there was Sampson, and David, and Solomon, and Marc Antony--you know what love did to them one and all.
"Kate refused him a year ago, in England--I found it out by accident, not from her, of course; and yet here he is.

It is the old story of the moth and the candle, and sometimes I laugh, and sometimes I am sorry for him.

He has eight thousand a year, too; and the Keiths are great people in Scotland, I hear.